


a stained glass variation of the truth

by madnessiseverything



Series: every little fracture in me [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-adjacent, Episode 24, Flashbacks/Hallucinations, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Post-Episode: 33, Tattoos, Tattoos as Identification, at least vaguely, description of arrow pulling, episode 12, episode 33, reality gets a little fuzzy from time to time, reference to caleb's backstory, some episode coda for episode 8, some form of actual talking between these dumbasses, sorta... i dont use the format but its exactly what it is, vague spoilers up to 41
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: “No matter how you die or where, we can identify your bodies without the heads.”Something tugs at his thoughts and the words spill out, sticking to his lips like blood. “I can be identified without my head.” He can barely hear his own voice, rough and coated in crimson. Something next to him squeaks but the shape he thinks might be Mollymauk continues on along a line of smudged shadows. Caleb feels like he should know what is happening. Shit, how did he lose track of the events? Master Ikithon will be displeased, he’s sure of it. He has to ask the others, has to fix this.or the one where Caleb has a tattoo of a name he no longer bears and the times it comes up.





	a stained glass variation of the truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petalSpitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalSpitter/gifts).



> hello hello and welcome to this absolute beauty! the lovely petalSpitter had a brillant idea in the lgbtq+ critter server and i took it and ran away with it. this series is what came of it. it's without a doubt the longest oneshot i completed in a good while and i am so very, very proud. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :D  
> title from neptune - sleeping at last

When it first slips past he isn’t truly aware that it does.  
  
The world is blurry, Caleb’s fingers covered in ashes and smoldering boots barely focused by his wandering eyes. There are arrows buried in his chest and breathing feels more like the inhaling of glass than usual. Mollymauk’s voice just barely cuts through the haze, Caleb’s head lifting slowly to find shapes of various sizes. He wonders if the group had always been this big.  
  
“No matter how you die or where, we can identify your bodies without the heads.”  
  
Something tugs at his thoughts and the words spill out, sticking to his lips like blood. “I can be identified without my head.” He can barely hear his own voice, rough and coated in crimson. Something next to him squeaks but the shape he thinks might be Mollymauk continues on along a line of smudged shadows. Caleb feels like he should know what is happening. Shit, how did he lose track of the events? Master Ikithon will be displeased, he’s sure of it. He has to ask the others, has to fix this.  
  
The world blurs again, darkness seeping into his firelit field of vision. He briefly wonders if the fire is his fault, before being jolted back when a loud clap rings through his surroundings. He forces himself to listen, chest burning. The instinct to rip the arrows out — to have them gone, out, all of them — makes his fingers itch.  
  
A low murmur of “Mighty Nein” reaches him and Beauregard’s rough, loud voice starts spelling out N-E-I-N and he thinks he might be smiling ever so slightly. Zemnian. Gods, he misses the language of home.  
  
He lets more words fall out, simple, few. “It’s in Zemnian.” He doesn’t even know if they hear, the low hum beneath it all too distracting. “Partially.” He has to let people know, let them know it’s his language.  
  
A new pain joins the burn and his breath catches. His head drops again, eyes half-lidded. The crossbow bolts are blurry, hard to see amidst the pain and little light. He wonders briefly how deep the bolts are before raising a shaking hand. He needs them out. He can feel them in his lungs and he needs them out _now_ .  
  
Suddenly someone is talking, right next to him. Jester’s words are fast, too fast. He closes his hand around one bolt, manages to dig his other hand into his chest and breathes in. One, he thinks and pulls.

The world erupts into white light and he thinks he might be screaming. His body feels too much like what he imagines his dreams of hungry fire truly feel like. But he needs the others out, gods he cannot leave them in. He can feel Astrid steadying him, can feel Eodwulf push against the freed wound.

“Two,” he rasps, desperate, fingers finding the next bolt before his sight returns with vague colors and smudges of darkness and fire. Fuck, he doesn’t want to be awake anymore. He pulls and the world descends into white again. Voices are echoing around his head and he wonders if they’re real, which time they’re from, blindly already seeking the third bolt. His fingers graze another hand and he jerks back, the final bolt moving ever so slightly as his hand knocks into it. Stars explode into the fading white light in front of his eyes and Caleb can feel his hold on consciousness slipping. The last bolt is buried in his abdomen and he doesn’t want to feel it anymore. By the gods, he wants it out. He grits his teeth and wraps his fingers around the wood. “Three.” He doesn’t know if he says it out loud or not, his breath stuttering. Pull.  
  
Relief is hard to come by when his world seems to be drowning in screams and pain, but he exhales. Odd pressure on his chest keeps him teetering on an edge he wishes he could fall off of.  
  
A melody he’s coming to know as Jester is rushing words into the air around him. Caleb should say something, tell her it’s okay now.  
  
“I think I am going to faint right now,” are the words he hopes come out before he finally falls into darkness.

 

-

 

 _“Hey guys?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes, Jester?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Caleb said he can be identified without his head.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“What?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I don’t know, he was going through the ashes of that Trevor guy and then Molly was talking to the bandits and then- well. He said that.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“He was totally delirious with pain. Look at him.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Do you think it meant anything?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You can ask him in the morning. Though I doubt he will remember if I’m bein’ honest.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah...you’re right. He was pretty hurt before I fixed him.”_ _  
_

 

-

 

The second time is better yet worse, and he doesn’t know how it came about. One moment they were in the Leaky Tap, relaxing, drinking and exhaling the stress of the road. The next Jester and Beauregard are pointing out an extensive tattoo sprawling over the arm of a dwarven woman and Mollymauk is letting Jester pull his coat to the side to show off the peacock lining his neck.  
  
“Did it hurt?” Jester asks, her voice high-pitched with excitement. Mollymauk grins, teeth on display.  
  
“Just the right amount.”  
  
“Like, on the neck seems pretty fuckin badass,” Beauregard cuts in, “but that looks like a lot of work and pain.”  
  
And Caleb doesn’t know what in the gods’ name moves him to answer in Mollymauk’s stead. “After a short while you grow used to the pain.” He notices the heads of the three loudest members of their rag-tag group snapping up to look at him, but keeps his eyes focused on the last swig of ale in his cup. Scheiße, how many has he downed since they came in here? “It’s really the time that takes a toll on you.”  
  
“Entirely dependant on personal preference, I would say,” Mollymauk says after a beat of silence. Caleb shrugs and raises his cup to finish it off.  
  
“Do you have a tattoo, Caleb?” Jester asks excitedly and he swallows the ale before standing up quickly. Jester and Mollymauk look up at him expectantly, while Beauregard’s face is carefully schooled into nonchalance.  
  
“I think I am going to retire. It has been a long day.”  
  
He leaves without another glance back.

  
-

  
  
_“Holy shit, he totally has one.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I bet it’s, like, really embarrassing. That’s why he didn’t want to tell us.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“What if it’s like - an ex’s name or something?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Or a dick! That would be pretty cool, though.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Whatever it is, I’m assuming he has it in a place with few nerves and lots of body fat, going from his comment about pain.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh my gods. It’s totally on his butt.”_ _  
_

_  
_ -

 

He cannot believe he lets himself get carried away enough that the third time happens. In hindsight, he wonders how he did not foresee this circumstance. Of course they would see.  
  
They’re in the bathhouse. Nott is complaining about the water, shaking herself like a wet dog. Her hair is hanging into her face, her yellow eyes barely peeking past the strands. Caleb, still fumbling with his pants, grabs his silver thread spool out of his coat. He coaxes Nott back towards the tub, ignoring Beauregard and Yasha staring each other down from opposite ends.  
  
“Caleb, I’ve had enough of water, really,” Nott speaks up, voice timid.  
  
“No, I know, do not worry. I simply need a handful to get your hair away from your face without knotting it.”  
  
Nott stares at the water with her nose scrunched up. Caleb waits patiently, noticing Yasha getting up but keeping his eyes on Nott. “Okay,” she says quietly, instantly squeezing her eyes shut and holding her breath. Caleb gently tilts her head back and scoops up some bathwater in his hands.  
  
Once her hair is slicked back enough, he fumbles with the silver thread to tie her hair back into a ponytail. He doesn’t notice an index finger approaching his back until a claw digs into his skin ever so slightly. He yelps and jumps forward, Nott yelping in response.  
  
Caleb whirls around to be faced with a dressed and grinning Jester. He brings his stuttering breath under control. “What can I help you with Jester?”  
  
“Why do you have a name on your back?”

It feels as if all the warmth and humidity of the bath just off to their right is suddenly replaced with a dry, deathly chill. The stutter in his breath is back, shards of ice filling his lungs and veins. How could he have been so careless? Has he really gotten so slow that he would expose his back so easily to the group around him? Had he really managed to forget who he is?

He can feel the others looking towards them; no, towards _him_ . Jester is tilting her head, hands reaching out as if to turn him back around. He pushes past her to his pile of clothes, hastily pulling his shirt out of the pile with trembling hands. The thread spool cuts into his hand, fingers closed around it hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.  
  
“I thought it would be more embarrassing,” Jester sing-songs behind him and he grits his teeth. Gods, he wishes it was something embarrassing. Anything other than what it is. He pushes against the wall of memories, desperate for them to remain where he had shoved them years ago. A few whispers push through and he tastes blood.  
  
He is halfway to putting on his coat when a small, clawed hand pats against his thigh. He looks down at Nott, who smiles. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Ja. I’m fine.” He can see that she doesn’t believe him, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she turns to the water and scrunches her nose again.  
  
“I still don’t see the appeal.”  
  
“It might come with time, who knows?” Nott glances back up at him with doubt written all over her face.  
  
He catches himself smiling in response and finishes pulling up his coat.

  
-

  
  
_“Did you not see it?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I wasn’t really… paying attention to him.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh right, you were looking at Yasha.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Shut up. So what was it?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“It was just the name. Like, down his spine, you know?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You think it really is like an ex or something?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I mean it could be. Why else would you have a name on your body?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Could be a parent’s name, maybe?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re so right! But why would he run off without saying anything?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Parents are complicated at best.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“My mom isn’t complicated, she’s amazing. Maybe I should get a tattoo of her one day.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I bet that would look sick as fuck.”_

 _  
_ -

 

Caleb thinks he plays it off fairly well the fourth time, though he will admit his judgment is a little skewered after his win in the Hour of Honor. Everything has a pleasant blur and all the light sources give everyone a halo. Caleb smiles. There is a tug on his arm and he remembers that he had agreed to dance with Jester. His eyes find the blue tiefling, her face split wide with a brilliant smile.  
  
“Caleb,” she sings at him, dragging out the vowels in her absolutely endearing way. A muffled protest in the back of his head gets quickly squashed as Caleb finds his standing on the inn floor.  
  
“Hey,” he finds himself replying, eyes focused intently on the freckles smattered across Jester’s skin.  
  
Jester giggles. “You’re super drunk, you know.” Strong hands grab his wrists and properly position his hands. They settle like muscle memory.  
  
“I am- I am aware,” he replies, eyes drifting down to ensure himself his feet were not about to give out underneath him. What a terrible show of his dance skills that would be. Jester moves and he reflexively follows the motion, thoughts entirely too muddled despite his feet remembering the tact.  
  
“Here,” Jester huffs after a beat or two, shuffling them around. Caleb lets her lead, the music changing to tunes that sound almost familiar. Caleb doesn’t know if that is good or bad. He might have known, had he not downed beer after beer in too quick succession. Jester’s grip stays firm on his coat as Caleb notices a few couples joining them to dance. Drunken patrons turn in their chairs to give themselves a better view of what Caleb supposes is now a dance floor.  
  
His eyes find their way back to Jester’s face not too long after. She grins at him with all the radiance Caleb never thought could exist in the same space as him. But somehow, he muses, somehow Jester manages it.  
  
“What is your tattoo about?”  
  
Some part of Caleb expects the warmth to drain like in the bathhouse. Instead, he simply misses his next step and Jester giggles. “Uh,” he starts eloquently, his brain too slow to recall the lie he had come up with should the topic ever arise once more.  
  
“I was thinking that it really looks like a name, but then I remembered that you also speak that other language and maybe it’s a weird phrase in your language somehow but I wasn’t like, totally sure, so I wanted to ask!”  
  
Jester seamlessly continues their waltz, her words filling the space between them, audible above the band that seems to have gotten the swing of the waltz. Caleb grasps at straws, curses his impulsivity for joining the Hour of Honor, gods, why did he think that would be a good idea?  
  
“But then Beau said she definitely thinks it’s a name, you know. But now I can just ask you!”  
  
“It’s a name,” Caleb answers and fuck, he wants to take it back. Jester’s face lights up and she manages to stop their dance long enough to sneak in a victorious fist pump.  
  
“I knew it! It looks super cool by the way, like the way it goes down your spine? Totally cool.”  
  
Caleb isn’t sure if it’s the drink, his scarf or panic that seems to close around his throat. Jester continues on, unfazed as if she didn’t just pull something out of Caleb that he did not intend to let go.  
  
“I was thinking about tattoos on myself, you know. I used disguise self the other day, just to see how it would look. Molly said they were really pretty. But I don’t know if I ever would get some, because I mean we don’t really have the gold right now. Is it an important name?”  
  
Caleb takes longer than he did before to realize she had turned her musings back onto him. He opens his mouth but finds it dry, eyes drifting away from Jester’s face to where he can just pinpoint Nott and Mollymauk dancing, Nott’s clawed feet firmly planted on Mollymauk’s boots.  
  
The world blurs around him and the music changes to something Caleb knows intimately, his back straightening impulsively. There are hands in his and he is not leading, because of course he isn’t. Astrid always takes over, should Master Ikithon leave them to their dancing lessons.  
  
His spine itches, a dull pain, words healing. They are not to use potions to speed up the healing process. He can still hear Master Ikithon explaining the importance of pain to them, stinging marks across their backs, chests and thighs. He understands the reasons, noble and important for their future.  
  
Caleb’s feet drag a little and hands right his positioning. He is sure he can hear Astrid laughing at him and he finds himself smiling in return, unable to react with anything but pride at her. She will always be so much better at this part than him or Eodwulf. Neither boy is too shy or proud to admit this freely to her.  
  
“You were always a better dancer than me, Astrid,” he whispers into the air, uncharacteristically warm for Master Ikithon’s dancing room. “You were always so good.”  
  
“Astrid?” asks a voice that does not fit into this setting, not at all. Suddenly the warmth makes sense again and the image of the dancing room and dimples on a face just an inch higher than his melts into a tiefling an inch or two shorter than him, curious purple eyes searching his face as strong hands still lead him in a waltz too clumsy to be Astrid and him.  
  
“Ja,” Caleb confirms before the cold void within him reclaims his thoughts and limbs.  
  
“Oh well, you know, Caleb-” Jester’s voice is filled with something that doesn’t belong to the radiation of sheer sunshine. Uncertainty swings with the timid words and Caleb cannot do this. He stops abruptly, catching himself just before stumbling sideways.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He has to make sure Jester is not hurt, she should be smiling more brilliant than any light he can conjure. “I’m sorry.” He needs to get out. His eyes find something that he is sure is the exit, a rectangular shape blocked by a few other dancers. He has to get out.  
  
“Do you need to sleep?” Jester asks but he is already moving. He has to get away before he lets the drink mess things up more. He’s shown too much. He needs to leave.  
  
Then something is firmly holding onto his coat and he can’t move any further. Panic seizes his chest before his brain registers Jester’s voice again. “You are not going to pass out on the street! You told me to be in charge of this!” Contrasting the strong grip on his coat, a gentle hand tilts his head up. Jester looks at him with what he thinks might be concern, his brain screaming at her eyes to stop with the way they seem to be unraveling every thread in his facade.  
  
“Let’s get you to bed, okay, Caleb?”  
  
He nods, eyes once more focusing on her freckles. A bed sounds nice.

 

-

 

 _“Traveler?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Do you think people can be cured of sadness?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I have seen many people learn happiness from worship and chaos.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah. But what if someone seems to- what if there’s someone who will help you with pranks but also look at you like they might fall apart when you try to take care of them?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“What happened?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I was just asking about his tattoo. Beau and I asked Nott the other day if she knew what it meant and she just said that she never wanted to pry before. And I’m really curious and Caleb was drunk, and he was fun! But then he got sad again.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Maybe a little fun will cheer him back up. Certainly, with your chaos, I’m sure you will be able to think of something.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re so right.”_ _  
_

_  
_ -

 

The fifth time Caleb is not inebriated. Instead, he finds himself floating in the ocean, the party far out on the beach. The sky is blue above him and the world seems muted, stripped back into only two truths - ocean and sky. It feels like a knot in his chest is slowly coming loose. His amulet sits against his sternum, heavy with familiar comfort. He feels like he can breathe. He never thought being outside the empire’s bounds would feel like more than relief.

His eyes catch onto small drifts of white, tiny in the massive blue expanse that spans to everywhere he can possibly look. He follows a thin stripe of cloud from the left to the right, only to suddenly be faced with a shadow looming over him, water splashing against Caleb. He startles, only getting half a yell out before salt water fills his mouth. Panic quickly finds its usual place in his chest as he struggles against the water, coughing. 

“Whoa, hey!” Hands find his arm and shoulder, steadying him. Caleb continues to cough, aware enough to recognize the shadow as Fjord, who is now thumping his back with a chuckle. “Alright there, chief.”  
  
His throat burns but the panic recedes, leaving behind only a mild frustration at being ripped out of a calm that had seemed unachievable before today. Fjord continues to thump him on the back.  
  
“Okay,” the half-orc says awkwardly, voice slightly higher than usual. The cough lessens. “Alright, you’re good.” Caleb half-heartedly glares at him and Fjord has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”  
  
“You can’t just sneak up on a person!” The sentence comes out as more of a struggle, salt now searing his nose. He rights himself in the water, acutely aware of Fjord’s lack of struggle. He sniffles.  
  
“Sorry,” Fjord repeats, “I just figured you’d want some company.” He turns his head away from Caleb to glance at the horizon. A smile makes its way onto his face, the scar bisecting his lip pulling Caleb’s focus for just a second. “It’s really tranquil, isn’t it?”  
  
Caleb wants to laugh. Instead, the noise that escapes him is a drawn-out groan, pushing the anxiety that had settled in at Fjord’s appearance out of his body as much as he could. Fjord sends him an amused look and Caleb exhales. “It’s ver-quite nice.”  
  
“Yeah.” Fjord’s face relaxes. Caleb can almost see the tension bleeding out into the water and disappearing. Fjord moves so his shoulder knocks into Caleb’s. “You seem quite at home in the water.” Caleb can feel Fjord’s eyes searching his face. “I’m surprised.”  
  
Caleb gives off a non-committal grunt, which Fjord takes as encouragement to go on. “No, really, I must commend you. A lot of people are very trepidatious in the face of-” Fjord draws his arm out to vaguely gesture at the expanse of the ocean in front of them, “a force of nature like this.”  
  
Caleb hums. “No, it’s…” He pauses, unsure of how to verbalize what stretches out around him in a way he has never seen before. “It’s expansive. It just keeps going forever.”  
  
Fjord nods. He turns his head with a smaller smile, subtle. “It suits you very well.”  
  
Caleb doesn’t let himself think about those words. “Why did you leave it?” He asks, now turning his head to catch Fjord’s gaze. Fjord visibly halts, motions much slower than Caleb, whose arms begin a slight fight with the waves to keep afloat.  
  
“I didn’t leave intentionally,” Fjord says with a sigh. “I tried to make my way up north to see if I could… learn more about the sword and everything.”  
  
Caleb swallows. He recalls Fjord’s mentions of the Academy when they first met; vividly remembers Fjord’s doubt of his own mission after- after everything in Shadycreek. An itch crawls up his sternum into his throat, more persistent than the salt.  
  
“But I’ve always loved the water, yeah,” Fjord continues wistfully. Caleb nods, the look on Fjord’s face as he scans the water is one of nostalgia. Caleb wishes he didn’t understand it as well as he does.  
  
“So it feels good to be back, ja?” He has to look up at Fjord, the half-orc gently bobbing thanks presumably to the enchanted armor Caleb recalls too well. _I will trade you for a story_ , Fjord had said then. Why does the itch insist on now?  
  
“Yeah, it does.” Fjord chuckles, looking down at Caleb with a smile. “I would live right on the water if I could.” The spark in his eyes betrays a giddy excitement at the very idea. Caleb can imagine it all too well now, seeing the way Fjord regards the ocean. Images of Fjord as a young sailor form in Caleb’s mind, jumping around ships, diving into the darkness much further out, laughing in a way Caleb only rarely has witnessed. He can see a life on the water for Fjord, he thinks, watching him gently move his hands through the waves as if he is discovering them for the first time again.  
  
“So maybe,” Caleb starts, clearing his throat, “maybe you stay, this time?” There is a calm understanding between them, one Caleb hasn’t felt in a while. He grits his teeth thinking back to when they had lost this understanding, the deep respect. He doesn’t think they’re there again. Maybe they will never be back there. But he doesn’t mind whatever this is.  
  
“Yeah,” Fjord replies with a nod. “I’ll take care of what I need to take care of. Then… I think a calm life on the water would suit me just fine.”  
  
Caleb nods, agreeing without hesitation. He lets the waves slosh him around, his eyes straying from the horizon back to the beach. He spots Nott, curled up amongst a pile of grey and white feathers. He doesn’t stop to think about how the pile came about. Instead, he opens his mouth to yell at her to get into the water. He can feel Fjord’s gaze on him, but keeps his attention on the shouted excuses of Nott, who seems to be shaking her head vigorously. He sighs.

“What is it with Nott and water?” Fjord asks after a few beats of silence. Caleb turns back to him. Fjord has a look of deep contemplation on his face, yellow eyes focused intently on Caleb. “Do you have any idea?”

Caleb shakes his head softly, eyes once more seeking out the line where sky and ocean meet. “I don’t know. She doesn’t like to swim, I don’t think.” He lets out a sigh and tilts his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Fjord swimming closer to him, seeming to have drifted away throughout the attempt to get Nott into the water. “But,” he continues, voice softening as he takes in everything around them, “you’d imagine seeing something like this would maybe… give perspective.”

He glances at Fjord, who nods in agreement. There is something else on his face though, something that unsettles Caleb. The ex-sailor clears his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he begins and gods, Caleb can already feel that he will most certainly mind. Fjord huffs. “The tattoo on your back. How did that come about?”

Caleb’s eyes drop to the water between them. He should have known. Of course they would ask. It’s hard not to, when he displays it so openly. He ignores the corner of his mind that whispers about his lack of care, of how he wanted them to notice it again. He licks his lips, the taste of salt permeating everything. “I..” He scrambles for his lie, the story he had put together should Jester pry once more. Fjord’s eyes watch him expectantly.

“Youthful mistake,” Caleb mutters finally, making sure to throw a rueful smile Fjord’s way. “A drunken escapade.”

Fjord raises his eyebrows, a grin already working its way onto his face. “Drunken escapade?”

“I was young once,” Caleb mumbles defensively, forcing himself to push back against the memories of hands holding him down, the only reassurance a reminder from Ikithon that pain is temporary. He shudders and quickly looks back up at Fjord, who lets out a laugh.

“I don’t doubt it. I just- well. You didn’t strike me as the type to get drunk enough for tattoos.” Fjord shakes his head in amusement and Caleb exhales. There’s a hint of something he knows cannot be real, prodding hands that cannot be here. He grits his teeth.

“We all make mistakes.”

Fjord nods, more solemn now. “That we do.” Hesitation passes through his eyes. “Whose name is it?” Not enough hesitation, Caleb thinks with his stomach twisting.

“Uh,” he laughs awkwardly. “Well. That is a complicated story. We uh…”

He lets a wave toss him a bit. Fjord smiles. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Complicated is all I feel I can say.” Caleb feels relief crashing down on him, more violent than any wave. It worked.

Off to their right a beacon of pink hair appears amidst the water. Caduceus laughs as he breaks the surface and looks at them with a wide grin.

“This smells weird. I really like it.”

Caleb accepts the distraction gratefully.

 

-

 

 _“Jester, why don’t you just ask him yourself?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“He doesn’t like talking, Fjord. I mean, I totally could but why ask if you already did?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah, I mean we all know Caleb would probably rather fight an entire Gnoll army himself instead of talking to us about literally anything.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“See, Beau agrees.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Why are you two so set on this?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Is it a crime to be intrigued?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“... No, though I doubt that would stop you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Come on, you said it wasn’t that big a deal!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Teenage Caleb got a little too shitfaced, alright? He called it a drunken escapade.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t look so disappointed, I told y’all it wasn’t a big deal.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I can’t imagine Caleb getting that drunk to be honest.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Well, he was super fun in Hupperdook! He was pretty drunk.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Alright, fair.”_

 _  
_ -

 

The sixth time, Caleb talks.

They’re all settled into an inn room. Beauregard is sitting cross-legged on the floor, back leaned against the bed frame. Jester sits with her legs framing Beauregard, eyes focused intently on her fingers. Caleb can see the needle whenever Jester leans back to get more ink.  
  
Beauregard is gritting her teeth, her staff laid across her lap and fingers wrapped around it in a white-knuckle grip. Nott is watching Jester with fascination, her mask discarded on the bed behind Jester. Fjord is watching from one of the other beds, arms folded behind his head and leaning against the wall. Yasha, a quiet shadow as always, is sitting at the window, eyes switching between the outside world and the tattoo session. Caduceus is watching the girls with mild interest, distributing tea evenly into a cup for each of them.  
  
Caleb is sitting on the bed opposite the girls with Frumpkin curled around the back of his neck, purring into his ear as he absentmindedly scratches him between the ears. His spellbook is resting on his crossed ankles and the mattress, a quill next to him ready for another spell transcription. There is an itch going down his spine as he watches Jester continue her work. He tries hard to ignore it, but the view of Beauregard’s face does nothing to help. So he drops his head and grabs his quill, fingers smoothing out the paper in front of him. The runes in front of him are familiar, if in a combination he has not come across. So he begins transcribing, careful to keep the book steady, forcing himself to ignore the occasional grunts from Beauregard.  
  
“It’s already looking super pretty, Beau,” Jester exclaims after a while of mild chatter amongst the group. Caleb continues to keep his head down, noticing Nott picking up one of the teacups and thanking Caduceus before hastily walking back to take a peek at the tattoo. He finishes the next stroke of the spell as Yasha shifts at the window and the bed where Fjord has taken position creaks.  
  
“The tea is going to get cold,” Caduceus speaks up and Caleb looks up in time for Caduceus holding up a cup towards him. His other arm is raised and Fjord reaches for his designated cup. Caleb grabs the offered cup and nods at Caduceus, who smiles and settles back into his position. Caleb takes a careful sip and focuses back onto his spell. The pleasant hum of muttered conversation between Fjord and Yasha, Nott’s offhand commentary about Jester’s skills and Caduceus humming in agreement from time to time settles his mind, Frumpkin nudging his head ever so often to request scritches.  
  
“Ugh, did yours burn like that too Caleb?” The question snaps him out of his transcribing. He raises his head to find Beauregard looking at him, that terrible look of determined curiosity on her face, tinted with pain.  
  
Caleb licks his lips. He exhales slowly, mind already rushing back to sensations long gone. “Burn like what?”  
  
Beauregard huffs, Jester leaning back to get more ink. “Like you’re getting a fuckton of papercuts in a row.”  
  
Caleb tilts his head, Frumpkin letting out a soft, questioning ‘mew’. “Not all the time.”  
  
“Was the rest better or worse?”  
  
Caleb is acutely aware of Fjord following the conversation with rapt attention, is aware of Nott’s yellow eyes turned up to him. “The middle was worse. They- uh. By the end I had grown used to it entirely.”  
  
There is something in Beauregard’s eyes, something he doesn’t like. It looks like she knows something more than what he revealed. Her eyes narrow and he hastily takes another sip of the tea, cold by now. He curses the fact that the monk is fast enough to always have her own ideas based on any and all information.  
  
“How long did it take?”  
  
“Ten hours.”  
  
“Oh wow, really?” Fjord pipes up, now leaned forward and feet planted on the floor. Attentive eyes scan Caleb. “That sounds like more than a drunken night out.”  
  
By the gods, Caleb should have thought of that. He sighs. _Breathe._  “Yeah.”  
  
“Caleb,” Jester whines, stopping the motions and looking at him with a pout. “You lied!”  
  
The feeling of fingers wandering over his back, nails digging in to keep him from flinching gets stronger. He shudders and a small cry leaves Frumpkin, who starts rubbing his face against Caleb’s cheek. “Yeah. I did.”  
  
Beauregard is still too focused on him. “It’s not the name of an ex, is it?”  
  
“No,” Caleb breathes, looking back down at the nearly completed spell. “We uh. Well. It’s-” he breaks off with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”  
  
“Is it the name of a parent?” Yasha asks, brows furrowed. Caleb glances at her and shakes his head. He feels tired suddenly, body lethargic and muscles aching. His spine burns with age-old pain.  
  
Nott shuffles towards him and takes the cup out of his shaking hand. “Caleb?”  
  
Caleb lets his eyes scan the faces of his friends. Pause. Breathe. “It was my name.”  
  
Beauregard lets out a hiss, Nott’s grip on his hand tightens. Fjord cocks his head, Yasha frowns and Caduceus simply looks at him, ready to listen to more. Jester’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “Your name?”  
  
“Ja. I, uh, I changed it a while back.”  
  
“Why would you need your name on your back?” Caduceus asks, confusion and clear curiosity in his voice. Beauregard is shifting and Caleb doesn’t want to look at her.  
  
“Caleb,” she starts, her voice quiet. “Is it meant as identification?”  
  
He doesn’t respond. Frumpkin’s claws dig into his shoulder, Nott is still holding his hand. Everyone is looking back and forth between him and Beauregard and he can feel her eyes on him, he can feel needles piercing his skin, he can hear Master Ikithon lecturing them on the importance of being able to identify them should they get caught up in something bigger than their usual tasks. He can feel the blood trickling down his waist, can feel the leather between his teeth. He can hear Astrid and Eodwulf whispering complaints, can feel the additional sting in his sternum.  
  
“Identification?” Asks a voice that doesn’t belong into the memories, too much of a drawl, not clean enough. “What sorta identification?”  
  
“Should we get caught up in something truly terrible and have to be identified by servants to the Empire.” The words are out and standing in the room before Caleb stops feeling gentle fingers tracing still burning letters. “They wanted to make sure we could be found.”  
  
The room is silent. Nott’s clawed fingers still firmly hold his, her thumb drawing circles into his skin. They’re too similar to the memories, too warm. Eodwulf whispers to his right, Astrid scoffs, his spine burns, blood runs down slowly.  
  
He drops the quill to press his hand against his sternum, the amulet pressing into the skin, grounding him. He raises his head enough to catch Beauregard’s eyes. Her lips are in a thin line. Above her, Jester is looking at him with confusion. “That’s weird. So your parents gave you tattoos in case you got into trouble? Notes seem so much easier!” She waves the needle around.  
  
Caleb swallows. Beauregard is now sharing looks with Nott. Fjord is looking at him like a puzzle to be solved. “Notes can get lost,” he whispers. Astrid scolds Eodwulf for opening the healing wounds, Master Ikithon tells them to keep their backs straight, they’re supposed to be respectable after all.  
  
“Well, then you’ve got to make sure to keep them in a safe place! Like my bag.”  
  
“I don’t mean to pry,” Fjord says, clearing his throat, “but what sort of situations were you in where an identification tattoo that took ten hours was the best course of action?”  
  
Caleb doesn’t stop the cold laugh that crawls up his throat. “You know how the Empire is. Danger could meet you anywhere. It has met us in so many places.”  
  
Fjord purses his lips and clasps his hands, letting them hang between his knees. “How old were you?”  
  
“Ah, sixteen.”  
  
“Caleb.” Beauregard’s voice was low, her stare piercing through any layer and mask. He slowly let his eyes wander over to a point just above the bridge of her nose.  
  
“Yes, Beauregard?”  
  
He could see her mind putting together scenarios he wishes she wouldn’t think of. The white-knuckle grip on her staff now looks less like a method of dealing with pain, but more like she could swing the staff at any second. Fury seems to be seeping through her skin into the air of the room.  
  
“Did you get to decide if you wanted it?”  
  
It’s quiet, Caleb thinks. None of his friends talk, their lips don’t move. But there is a whistle in his ears. Eodwulf is making pained noises, Astrid is spitting blood and there is a whistle. Fire licks up his spine and a clawed hand tightens its hold around his fingers.  
  
“Caleb?”  
  
Nott is looking at him with concern, eyes wide. Her grip on his hand loosens again and he reflexively closes his fingers around hers.  
  
“We thought it was logical.” His voice is too quiet, he thinks, he can barely hear himself over the whistle, over Master Ikithon scolding them for their lack of resolve. He can hear Beauregard exhaling forcefully, he can hear Jester’s quiet “Oh, Caleb”, he can hear Yasha shift again. “It was logical.” He can hear the words echo back at him in voices long gone. He hates it.  
  
“Who is ‘we’?” Caduceus asks gently. Caleb looks at him and finds sharp eyes focused on him, insight beyond what he feels comfortable with likely reflecting in his own eyes for Caduceus to read. “Your family?”  
  
“My-” He swallows, looks down to the worn edges of his spellbook, worries at the leather strap around his thigh. “My-” Gods, he hasn’t said the word in years. He doesn’t know if he can. Next to him, he can hear them giggling, can almost feel the shove that comes whenever they catch him unawares. He can feel Eodwulf’s arms draping over his shoulders, can feel Astrid drawing shapes into his thighs. “Friends.” He can’t. He can’t. “My friends and I. It was logical, to have something that could not be easily lost or taken from us.” His free hand pushes against his sternum again, rubbing the skin where his amulet rests.  
  
“Are you okay?” Fjord’s voice is quiet, his eyes searching for Caleb’s.  
  
Caleb tilts his head back to the ceiling and breathes in. “Ja. I’m fine.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Beauregard scoffs. He looks at her and sees all the anger he cannot muster.  
  
“You look sad,” Jester mumbles, hands balled up against her chest. “Sadder than normal, I mean. I don’t like it.”  
  
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “The uh, the subject is a little… a little raw.”  
  
“You talked to us,” Nott pipes up, smiling. “I’m proud of you.”  
  
He smiles, fights against the creeping edges of the void within his chest. He can breathe. It’s okay. Nott pats his thigh, then gently climbs up onto the bed to sit next to him. Frumpkin headbutts him, Caduceus smiles pleasantly.  
  
Jester rearranges herself behind Beauregard, fiddling with the string and needle. “I could- You don’t seem to like it very much.”  
  
He doesn’t know if that’s the truth. It sits where he cannot see it, an invisible reminder, not too different from the etchings in his sternum. He doesn’t know if he dislikes it. He deserves to be reminded, reminded of that what he was, is, will be. He sighs.  
  
“I was just thinking, because you know. This eye is looking like... _super_ awesome and I think I could totally make your- the name look prettier with other tattoos? Oh! I could draw some of the flowers Nott always braids in your hair.”  
  
“The good luck charms,” Nott hums next to him. “I like it.”  
  
“They would look so cool, Caleb!”  
  
The flames recede. He doesn’t know if he can take the pain so deeply burned into his mind once more. Even so, the idea brightens his smile a little. Jester points the needle at him and begins to giggle.  
  
“You like it! I can totally do it, Caleb. I promise! But I have to finish Beau’s eye first.”  
  
Beauregard grunts, her eyes still hard with anger, but her posture softens slowly. “You don’t have to like things because they’re logical,” she huffs. “And you sure as fuck don’t have to defend them.”  
  
“I know,” he replies and picks up his quill again. He hesitates. Swallows. “It reminds me of a time long passed. I don’t know if I will ever be able to view it in any other way.” He contains his own wince at the admission. Fjord nods solemnly, eyes drifting down to the floor.  
  
Yasha reaches out and awkwardly pats his shoulder. “I think,” she says, voice quieter than all of them, “I think reminders are good. But moving on from them doesn’t mean we don’t remember.”  
  
Caleb looks up at her. Her lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. He reaches up with his quill hand to squeeze her hand briefly, before dropping his head again to focus on his spell.  
  
“Ow, Jester! Give a warning!”  
  
“Shh, don’t be such a baby.”  
  
Caleb smiles down at his book. His heart slows from its panicked fluttering, settles back into its bony cage. He’s safe. They aren’t digging deeper, they aren’t pressing for more. Nott leans her cheek against his arm and he exhales. It will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are more than welcome, i would love to hear your thoughts on this! and feel free to drop by my [cr tumblr](nottanothercritter.tumblr.com) and yell with me about these dumbasses and how they really need to have more group talks


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